Clockwork
by Annilus
Summary: Where Rachel takes Emma to Paris, and leaves Ross behind. Ross POV
1. Chapter 1

She left.

I thought she was the one. She was the one.

She wasn't the one?

That couldn't be true. It isn't – wasn't, it can't be...but it is. How could she be -the one- if she isn't even here? How can I go on loving...no, how can I _not_ love **her**.

Rachel.

When I think of the future...when I close my eyes, it's vivid: We're holding hands, eating soft-serve with our daughter, Emma – we're laughing, smiling with our eyes, grinning with our mouths – I kiss a bit of vanilla off her lips, and she's gone.

I awake with a fright. No, that's a lie – I'm numb. I awake mechanically, pulling off the covers and dressing into my routine.

I laugh. It's funny, how my life revolves around a single girl.

It's shocking. It's maddening.

It's pathetic. I hate myself. She must hate me too.

That's why she left.

* * *

She's back.

It's been six months. I've gotten better, thanks to time. It heals all wounds, doesn't it? God, I wish it did.

This is one wound that will permanently scar. You can see it, if you look closely; I can feel it, when I look at her.

She's as beautiful as ever. Her smile still radiant, blinding – real. How can she do that? I envy her.

I look in the mirror, and I see a shell. I'm fine, I say. I'm fine.

I can smile too.

"Ross, are you ready? Emma and I are all set to go to the park, isn't that right Em?"

"Yeah!"

Ah. Alright Ross. Look lively. Gel, comb, cold water to the face – you can do this.

I look into the mirror and smile. I look into my eyes and wonder what the hell I'm doing.

"Coming!"

* * *

"Nice day huh," I say, doing my best to maintain a small smile.

"Yeah, it really is," she replies, one side of her lip quirked up in a half-smile. She doesn't need to fake it. She doesn't feel the need to.

"So...I know we kinda talked about it as a group, but uh, how's Paris?"

"Um, it's-it's great, actually. Yeah, it took some time to get used to – you know, to settle in to the _apartment_, and the _culture_, and the new _job_. And Emma, well, she's cute _now_, but she can be a real handful sometimes, y'know? It gets tough. Being a single mom, it's – it's tough."

She looks away at that last statement, shifting uncomfortably on the park bench. Her smile falters.

And then it's back.

"But anyway, how's your life been? Any...exciting new, um, fossils?"

A knowing smile. She knows how fucked up I am.

I shoot her a look. I know she knows, and I want her to know that.

She looks away again, instead focusing her attention on Emma, who is playing in the sand.

"Yeah. Err, no, no new fossils, but um...yeah. I've..."

I look down at my hands. I wish I could see how pathetic I look right now.

"I'm okay."

I'm fine. I smirk at that thought.

"Ross..."

I was never a good liar.

"Really...I am. Seeing you and Emma, and how happy you both are – it makes me happy too."

I look her in the eyes.

"Really happy."

I give her my best smile. The best I can manage. And really, it's true. I am happy for her, and for Emma.

I am.

I just wish I was included in their happiness.

I hear Emma laughing, and my eyes soften. She's so beautiful. I miss that laugh _so_ much.

I can feel Rachel's eyes on me, and I know they're full of pity.

It's unbearable.

I get up off the bench and sit down with Emma in the sand. A genuine smile, when I look at her. The first in what feels like forever. I put everything out of my mind, and focus on the moment.

I'm with my daughter. My Emma.

I get to work on outlining a fossil in the sand, alongside Emma's various mounds and holes.

She giggles and grabs my finger.

"Daddy!"

I could feel my heart swell two times its size.

I have the overwhelming feeling of wanting to share this moment with the woman I love.

I look back at the bench and see her, fresh tears on her cheeks, half-smile, half-grimace.

I know she feels it too; how right this is, that this is how it should be.

She took this away from me.

Why can't I hate her for it?

I gather Emma up into my arms, and shed tears of my own.

* * *

I lay on top of my bed, like a starfish – drying out. Dying out.

I shake my head. These morbid thoughts are not helping.

I need Rachel. She can bring me back to life.

I dial her cell.

"Hello?"

"Rachel."

"Ross?"

I go silent.

"Ross, what's up? Why are you calling? ...Is something wrong?"

"I'm sorry. Please come back."

"Ross...we've been over this. A thousand times. I thought you were better?"

"Well, I'm not. I never have been. It's not even about you anymore – or about love. It's about how... how fucking _stupid_ you are for leaving in the first place! How you took Emma away from me! She's _my_ child just as much as she is yours, she _belongs_ with her father! She _deserves_ a family that's not fucking _broken_!"

"Oh no, don't you fucking start with me right now. I don't need this shit, Ross."

"Oh, you don't _need_ this shit. Well, what about what I need, huh? Was I just a throwaway fuckdoll for you to impregnate yourself with?"

"Oh my god, Ross! What is _wrong_ with you? See, this is why I left. Things would have _never_ worked out between us, because you're too much of an immature, egotistical _asshole_ who has to get his way, or he'll whine and pout until he does! Well not this time, buddy, so why don't you go and deal with it and jump off a fucking cliff or something."

Click.

That went well. I needed to hear that. If she didn't somehow hate me before, she definitely does now. I can finally move on.

* * *

Her wedding is in three months; I'll need to bring a date.

I dial Chandler's cell.

"Chandler?"

"Ross, buddy, old pal! What's up man? Just a sec, puttin' the twins to bed. Get in there, ya little rascals! You want me to read you a book? Monica! They want to be read a book! I can't do it myself, I've got Ross on the phone! No, I'm not gonna hang up Mon, it's my _best friend_ we're talking about! I swear he's actually on the phone! No, this isn't another attempt to get out of it! Thanks, hunny. Anyways, Ross, what's going on? Talk as long as you like."

"Rachel's getting married."

"Yeah, I heard. That must suck man."

"I need a date."

"Oh shit, you actually wanna go? Damn dude, props."

"Yeah. So, know anyone?"

"Shit, just a couple of neighbourly old widowers, not much of a social life with the kids and all. Lemme see if Mon knows someone. Hey Mon, know any young hot ladies for Ross to employ as arm candy for Rachel's wedding? No, not like prostitutes, friends! Okay, okay, slash the young and hot and arm candy employable, know any _ladies_ that are single? Christine? That the fat one? Okay, my bad, curvy! Alright, so uh, seems like she does – she'll call you tomorrow with the deets."

"Great. Thanks man. I'm gonna go to bed."

"Sure buddy, any time. In fact, any time around this time. Talk to ya later!"

Click.

I lie down in my bed and burrow under the covers, seeking warmth.

I dream of Rachel, and the groom with no face, walking up the aisle.

Her face is blurry. She's not the Rachel I know. She's not my Rachel.

I turn away and see Emma. Her face is clear, laughing.

She's drawing in the sand; a fossil, scribbled over.

I envelope her tiny body within my arms and squeeze tight, never wanting to let go.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, over and over.


	2. Chapter 2

It's time, isn't it. Time to go. Time for France. For the wedding. Time to go, and get over her.

Time to go, and see her for the last time. To say goodbye. To them.

Why is it so hard? Isn't it actually really easy? It really is, isn't it. Think it. Will it. This is it. It's over. Go. Go. End it.

Go.

* * *

"_Hey buddy, why aren't you answering? Mon – ow – _we're_ worried about about you. Remember that Christine girl? She's down for a date, man. Well, she was. That was like, two months ago. Can't keep girls waiting that long, man. Hey, I know you're there. Pick up, alright? Seriously, we're worried about you. You wanna say something, Mon? – Ross, pick up the god damn phone right now! I swear to God, if you don't answer, I will drive down there and bust down your door! Ross? Ro–"_

* * *

The flight was fine. Long, but fine. Got some much needed sleep, surprisingly. I haven't slept like that in...since then. I adjust my suit, tighten my tie, crack my neck, shake out the kinks. I'm ready. Let's go, Ross. You can do this.

You're alright.

* * *

Obnoxious. The decorations, the people, the music, the venue, the food – obnoxious. If this was how our wedding was gonna go, I'm glad it never happened. What is this tacky crap? Is that...purple? Adele, seriously? Lame. Super lame. And they call me lame? Psh.

There she is.

Rachel.

Laughing, talking, socializing, happy.

Here I am. At the bar. Three gin and tonics deep.

Nursing a fourth.

Isn't she so goddamn happy. Trampling all over my heart. Spitting it out. Sneering in my face as she does it. Taking it all. How can someone love...that? Pure evil. Living, walking, strutting horror. The chump who marries that. The base idiot.

Lucky bastard.

Emma.

There she is.

Oh, there she is.

Can I go over to her? I'm drunk, aren't I. That's bad parenting, isn't it. I'm not a bad parent.

I'm a good dad. Aren't I, Emma?

How could you even know.

I promise you, I am. I could be. I would be. I still want to be. But how?

Can I not?

"Emma."

She turns. Her pretty little head, her pretty little eyes, her pretty little nose. All towards me. Her pretty little smile. Her confused look. Her blonde pigtails, from the back.

Her small retreating form.

My Emma.

"Another?"

"Please."

Nursing a fifth.

"Ross?"

Rachel.

"That's you, right? Ross?"

Yes, it's me.

"...Hello? Earth to Ross?"

"...Hey."

She sits beside me, puts a hand on my shoulder.

"You okay?"

She looks at me. And there it is. Concern, pity. Relief, that she's no longer with me. With this broken mess. Broken, drunken mess.

I give her a smile. My best smile.

"I'm okay. Yeah. I'm okay. I'm always...been okay."

I look away. I look down. I look back up. And now she's frowning. And now she's mad.

"Are you _drunk_?"

Uh oh.

"I'm...no?" I laugh. "Who cares?" I put my hand on her lap. "Do you care?"

Disgust, as she slaps away my hand. "Are you kidding me right now, Ross? I don't even remember inviting you. How'd you get in here?"

I laugh again. A bark, really. "How? I _was _invited. By your boyfriend."

She cusses.

I smirk. Looks like marital problems are gonna start early. "Whoops?" I hope she hears it, the undertone of gloat.

Oh, that dirty look. She heard it.

"I want you to leave. Right now. You are _not _gonna ruin my wedding. You hear me?"

Wow, she's furious.

"It's not _funny, _Ross."

"I'm sorry," I lie. I can't stop laughing.

I stand up and stretch. I'm feeling good.

I walk towards the crowd. Rachel's voice drowns out in the background.

"Kyle? Kyle!" I yell out into the crowd.

"Hey, ho! Here!" a voice answers back. Probably Kyle's.

I head towards it.

So that's him. Looks strong. Nice jawline.

"Did you call for me?" he asks. Deep voice, too. She sure knows hows to pick 'em.

I give him my best smile, since it's still plastered on my face anyways. "Kyle." I stick out my hand, and he gives it a firm shake, emulating a smile of his own. A good smile, albeit confused. "Ross." I point to myself.

"Oh, Ross! Man, it's nice to finally meet you! I've heard so many...things about you."

I like the hesitation before things. Like he can't lie and say they were good.

"I'm sure you have. Nice party you got here. Your wife's beautiful."

"Uh, thanks – not my wife yet!" He laughs. A painful, awkward laugh.

"Right, 'course not. You taking care of my daughter?" That's it, go for the jugular, Ross.

"I, uh, yes, I think I'm, we're, doing just fine? Are you okay, bud?" Oh, he calls people bud. He's _that _kinda guy.

"I'm fine, _bud_. Are you okay, _bud_?" Get 'em, Ross. You show him.

"Do we have a problem here?" Oh, the show of hands. The universal 'I'm the adult here' sign.

I shake my head and laugh. "No, no problem. No problem at all."

I wanna punch him. Should I? I shouldn't, right?

"Dad?"

Emma.

"Emma."

"Emma, sweetie, you shouldn't be –" My fist connects with his face.

"She was talking to _me_!" I yell. I pull my fist back, ready to hit him again. Voices cry out.

"Stop!"

"Oh my god!"

A scream.

Emma.

"Ross, you son of a bitch!"

Rachel.

My gut gets pushed inward, I puke and fall to the ground.

More screams.

"Kyle, stop!"

"You little shit."

I'm sorry, Emma. You shouldn't see your dad like this.

Don't look at me like that, Emma.

My beautiful daughter.

Don't look at me like you don't know who I am.

Don't look at me like I'm a monster.

* * *

I guess that's it.

It's over.

I look into the _Seine, _watching the water ripple from the rain.

The steady pitter-patter of Paris rain. A beautiful city, perhaps more so at night than at day. Perhaps more so in rain than in good weather.

Rachel's gone. Forever.

Emma's gone. Forever.

I guess that's it.

It's over.

I look into the _Seine_, parting the water's ripples as it rains.


End file.
